


beth, benny, and a dormitory bed

by HumiliatedRook



Category: The Queen's Gambit (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - S1E05: Fork, F/M, I can't write smut sorry, This was supposed to be a drabble, age gap change, beth is going to be SORE tomorrow, dorm room sex, indulgent af, oh wait do they play chess?, poor RA poor everyone all night, starring Beth and Benny being loud and obnoxious, tagging whoever would like to write a tqg vampire au, they are fucking out of control
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 13:35:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30140361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HumiliatedRook/pseuds/HumiliatedRook
Summary: Beth could be a vampire, the way her tongue drains the last of his restraint and will to walk away; the way her teeth on his bottom lip suck whatever the words “forget it” used to mean out of his mouth.---Beth and Benny get the College Hookup Experience(™) in 1967.
Relationships: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts
Comments: 9
Kudos: 62





	beth, benny, and a dormitory bed

**Author's Note:**

> Unofficially dedicated to [paperclipbitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperclipbitch/pseuds/paperclipbitch), hope you feel better soon!
> 
> Thank you to [dialectica_esoterica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dialectica_esoterica/pseuds/dialectica_esoterica) and her way with words. Any mistakes or repetitive phrasing are my own.

“We’ll leave from here. I’ll drive us.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Afternoon. Once everything here finishes up. Oh, and about sex - “

Benny’s mouth is half-curved around the “forget it” when suddenly he blinks and he’s kissing Elizabeth Harmon, her tongue cautiously, and then, _feverishly_ , devouring every square centimeter of his mouth. He can taste the beer in her mouth, and he’s betting she can taste his. He’s slowly losing his grip on reason, the most rational part of his brain struggling to register what is going on.

Her tongue is impossibly delicate despite the fierce bite of her teeth on his lip; his hands are splayed across her cheeks and coiled in her hair - how? Her fingers are running along his arms, under his coat, and teasing the edge of his shirt - since when? There’s electricity sparking everywhere, like this is what the movies try to convey about a first kiss - what? The pressure against his jeans is getting unbearable - _why_?

She breathes an exhilarated laugh into his mouth. Her smile is so uncontrollable he breaks their kiss to whisper, “What?” It comes out hoarser and more insecure than he intends - but he’s momentarily worried that he’s kissing her wrong, somehow. He shouldn’t be kissing her _at all_ , but that line has been definitively crossed.

Suddenly the buzzing in his ears and his head from _Beth Harmon’s lips on his_ quiets a tad, and he registers his feet are still in his shoes, still on the floor of some dive bar in Ohio. His coat, heavy and uncomfortably sticky from the heat of another body pressed to it, is still grafted to his shoulders. They’re standing in a corner, not far from where he swears they were just sitting. 

She doesn’t answer his question, just shaking her head with amusement. Instead she steps back from him to throw on her long maroon duster and head for the door, eyes on him expectantly. And although she’s not actually touching or dragging him, he follows helplessly as though she were, needing so much more of her.

Her fingers slip into his ( _again,_ his mind implores him, _what?!_ ) and they walk back to her dorm room. It’s spacious enough for two bodies to walk side-by-side, and thank goodness most of the rooms seem empty; some players have already vacated and left their rooms open, while other doors remain steadfastly closed. Benny had given himself the entire seven-minute walk back to the dorms to try to calm down, try to think _rationally_ about how odd it looks for them to be seen together like this, try to remember he was supposed to be training her for Paris like he’d offered in the bar.

Benny guesses that his id is taking over to chide him, to say something like _oh_ , as if Benny _hadn’t_ been aware of the sparks flying this whole week. Their lingering glances after each match, the magnetism that drew her to him and him to her at every meeting they had, from the beginning of the tournament to the park to the student union. The flirting on Wednesday from which Benny had removed himself as quickly as he could, before he did something he regretted. He’d been nosing around her for what opening she was planning to play, but got far too distracted trying to coax her to hang out later. 

There had been the hours they’d spent the next day talking on the park bench, just after the way his hand brushing hers had made her jump back and his stomach drop in a way that felt wholly foreign and terrible to him. And, most importantly, the speed chess which had been electrifying: battling it out until their cheeks were red and she was visibly shaking and he found himself speechless when she handed him her last dollar and stalked out of the room.

And now, he’s indebted to the consequences of her proximity, of falling into her gravitational field, as Beth fumbles briefly to unlock the door, and he holds the door open for her with ingrained chivalry he prefers to pretend he doesn’t have, and she walks in, and he makes sure to kick the door closed behind him and lock it, too. Any pretense of a good night’s sleep has slipped down that dirty communal shower drain.

They pause briefly, sizing each other up. Even in the evening light, her eyes still shine. Her hazel eyes meet his (blackened, he imagines; his pupils dilated comically large to greedily absorb her image), and Benny swears their air is sizzling when their bodies collide. She yanks his coat from his shoulders and pushes him into an open part of the wall, his hat falling from his head. From the sound of his body hitting the wall, the force should’ve shocked him. It doesn’t.

Beth could be a vampire, the way her tongue drains the last of his restraint and will to walk away; the way her teeth on his bottom lip suck whatever the words “ _forget it_ ” used to mean out of his mouth. He can already feel the bruises rising on his lips, and he’s done for when she runs her hand under his shirt, her lips pressing hot kisses to his neck, and the word _finally_ rises unbidden to his mind when she pulls his clothing off, impatiently. In a bid for the upper hand, he eagerly returns the favor.

He sweeps her up, bridal-style, and throws her onto the bed, letting it creak loudly as Beth momentarily has the breath knocked out of her lungs. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the books at her desk, the robe hanging on the hook outside the closet, the contents of her suitcase a mess. Her windows are closed, shades drawn tight. The square floor and large white bricks of the walls give the impression of a prison, but here, at least, they are afforded _privacy_.

Benny’s never hooked up on a college campus - how thin are the walls? He’d never really been interested in Wexler’s parties at NYU. Yes, there had been Paris with Cleo. Some casual flings here and there; likely he’s just adding one more to the list tonight. (Beth feels _amazing,_ is amazing, but there’s no way this can be more than a one-off thing.) 

(Or maybe it can, as Benny launches himself at her mouth with a renewed fervor he can’t remember ever feeling prior to right here, right now.) 

Benny tries to remember Beth’s age - nineteen? Well, he is twenty-three, and he has some degree of experience, and he didn’t come here _not_ to impress her with his prowess.

He's clambered onto the tiny twin-size mattress, where she pulls him in once again. Now, he spends some time caressing her breasts, testing which sensations she responds to most strongly. She doesn’t seem to mind when he flicks her or twists her areola, but when he puts his mouth directly on her skin, her breath noticeably quickens. Benny could just kiss and touch Beth all night and die a happy man, but there are clearly more bases Beth intends on stealing. Her hands keep edging closer and closer to the waistband of his boxers; he keeps grabbing her hands and pinning them above her.

“Not yet,” he intones, a smirk dancing at the edge of his voice. 

“I’m not sure how you’re doing this,” Beth speaks for the first time, voice heady and just a tad breathless, giving away that she’s just as confused as he is as to how they got here.

Benny furrows his eyebrows, pausing momentarily, “Doing what?” _Has she never done this before?_

Beth pauses, as if phrasing her words as carefully as she can. “Impressing me?” She tries it as a joke, but it comes out instead as a question, ragged and disheveled.

Since he has lost most of his capacity for thought, Benny focuses on the thrill her words send down his spine; doesn’t really register any of her implications if there are any, because he’s barely even begun impressing her. _I want to blow your mind_. 

He wrenches her underwear down and vaguely thinks _good,_ covetously observing how wet she’s become. 

Beth pauses, as if wary, but lets him move down, pressing delicate butterfly kisses down her stomach into which she arches her back. He lingers at her thigh, enjoying the way she twitches and practically _begs_ , caution (and volume control) thrown to the wind.

When he finally reaches her, he inhales, savoring her scent, and then he moves his tongue past her hair, letting his thirst overtake him. He starts with light movements, of course, testing different pressures, speeds, shapes his lips and his tongue can trace. He hits a rhythm that has her almost crying, and he risks a glance up: her eyes are screwed shut. He redoubles his efforts and loses all sense of time and place, letting low guttural sounds vibrate against her sex. He feels the pressure build up in her and her arousal burst into his mouth. He revels once again in her taste; the feeling of her unimaginably soft skin against his lips.

Beth is gasping again, sensitive and shaking. He moves away from her clit, back up to admire her body riding the last of her orgasm, satisfied at the sight of her undone, cheeks aflame. This isn’t the first time he’s ever had a woman panting for pleasure, but it never gets any less pleasing, especially when it’s someone as talented and clever and, frequently, aloof as the new U.S. Champion. It means they’re finally something like friends.

 _Friends_ , Benny thinks again, as Beth pulls him into a kiss so deep he shudders.

Beth pulls his boxers down, and this time he can’t resist. She wraps her hands around his cock - _fuck_ \- and she presses it against her entrance, where she’s still wet. He’s throbbing uncomfortably now, so excited by the contact that he’s possibly leaking from pre-cum, too. With a breath that trembles, he swings off the bed to rifle through his coat on the ground.

Beth raises an eyebrow when he grabs the spare condom he keeps in his wallet: _how frequently does this happen to you at chess tournaments?_ He says nothing, but he glories internally at her curiosity, tinged with jealousy.

With the crackle of the wrapper (every sound is amplified in this room; it must be the acoustics of the building) he slips it on, and returns to lean over her body.

“Have you - ?” He starts to ask, just trying to gauge her comfort level.

She nods her affirmation. She’s on her back and still winding her hands in his hair, but that guarded look has returned, her eyes watchful and wide. There’s not a lot of time or energy for words, as they’re just trying to get _closer_ _and_ _closer_ , chasing a pleasure that he guesses she has never really experienced before. Benny opts for a gentler approach, and he teases her, pushing and pulling back. 

The effect is immediate, and Beth’s eyes narrow, certain that he’s not doing _near_ enough. She grabs him and pulls him against her again, and he helps navigate into her. Her sharp intake of breath sends a crackle through his legs and without a second thought he’s sliding in and out of her, glistening and smooth and _god_ she’s so tight. As he’s on his knees, he hoists her legs so they sit over his shoulders. He continues his plunging movements, the bed creaking. He raises one hand to steady her, and another hand to the wall to muffle the sound of the bedframe hitting it. It doesn’t work, and honestly, Beth’s voice is probably carrying already, so he gives up and moves both hands to cup her breasts, soft but taut. He lets himself stutter out a _fuck_ that he thinks is under his breath. 

Benny even finds himself enjoying the symphony of sensation that is the drumming of the bed against the bricks and their voices mingling and blending and the warmth quickly spreading all over his body. Of its own volition, one of his thumbs moves toward her clit, where the speed of circular movements correlates almost directly to the pitch of Beth’s voice.

Maybe it’s the novelty of her body, maybe it’s the strangled curses she’s making, maybe it’s her voice begging his name interspersed with moans, maybe it’s that this fragile mattress is about to fall from the frame, but when he comes, he comes harder and more quickly than he ever has with Cleo or anyone else, _ever_. His mind is wiped completely blank. He collapses and groans into her neck, pulsing into her, releasing, shattering. She’s trembling, too, and Benny can feel her clench around him. She shifts so that her lips breathe relieved, fatigued kisses against his chest. Benny’s lips meet hers, one more time, and he can practically taste her pleasure.

They lay for a moment, entwined and tingling, his body spooning hers. They can’t separate, or else Beth would fall off this stupidly small mattress. It could also tip over the edge, and then they would _both_ be sent to the floor. Benny contemplates wryly what a rollercoaster ride that would be to conclude this night of spontaneous discoveries. Somewhere close by, the radio is far too loud, blasting Georgie Fame’s _The Ballad of Bonnie and Clyde_. Either the walls really are thin and Beth has had terribly inconsiderate hallmates for the past week, or someone is really throwing a hell of a party. Benny searches for the time - how is it 3 am already?

Beth hums, as if to herself, “So that’s what it’s supposed to feel like.” Her head rests on his arm, and she begins to doze peacefully.

Benny has forgotten everything prior to that first kiss. He doesn’t care that tomorrow they’re going to have to survive a drive with no one but each other and the open road for eight fucking hours; that the levy of their “no sex” rule had broken before it was really erected. 

His heart is pounding, perhaps from the beer, or perhaps from the woman whose body is fitting along his more neatly than he could’ve imagined, or perhaps from the encroaching numbness in his arm from the weight of her head, or perhaps from his undiluted anticipation for when they can do this again.

**Author's Note:**

> Adding my request for the sequel: "beth, benny, and a Volkswagen Beetle" where on the drive the next day, Benny has to pull into a rest stop so they can make out OR Beth tries to go down on Benny while driving.


End file.
